My parents and I decided to make our own costumes. Since we weren’t going anywhere, they didn’t have to be cold-resistant. I dressed as a hobo, because this was back when you would say “hobo” instead of “homeless person.” (And you didn’t really see homeless people in Alaska in the winter.) My mom was a green-faced witch. My dad was Chewbacca, though he looked more like Bigfoot with mange.
We had popcorn, chips, cookies, and candy galore. Our neighborhood always had a lot of trick-or-treaters, and we gave out the good stuff, Snickers and M&M’s. No apples or that orange-and-black-wrapped peanut butter taffy.
Tina and her dad arrived, and they’d put a lot more effort into their costumes. Tina was a devil, with sparkles all over her outfit, three different shades of red makeup (blended exquisitely) and a tail that she could move around with a pulley system attached to her back. Her dad was also a hobo, but a much more elaborate one. He’d blacked out some of his teeth and had a long stick with his possessions tied up in a handkerchief on the end. “I was going to go for authentic body odor, but Tina talked me out of it,” he said, laughing.
Tina’s dad was shockingly cool. I’m not saying that I wanted him to adopt me, since that would technically make Tina and I brother and sister, but he was far different from what I’d expected, which was either a drill sergeant or somebody who looked like a raincloud should be following him everywhere. Here, he was the life of the party, offering up a constant stream of jokes, eating an alarming amount of junk food, and praising the costume artistry of every single trick-or-treater who came to the door.
After a slow start, Tina also started to have fun. She shared a couple of amusing anecdotes about past Halloween experiences, and yes, I could tell she’d practiced them, perhaps for hours. My parents adored her.
It’s entirely possible that most people in my peer group would think that a Halloween party that consisted of two kids and three parents was lame as hell, but screw it. Everybody was having a great time.
“I’m so glad we finally got to meet you,” said Mom. “It feels like we’ve been waiting for this forever.”
“Yeah, yeah,” said Tina’s dad. “Tina has told me so much about Curtis, and I’ve been anxious to find out if he lived up to the hype. He completely does. Exceeds expectations.”
Tina and I exchanged a concerned look, because this was the part where our parents might start to compare stories, which could be problematic. But then the doorbell rang, and they went over to hand some candy to a ghost and a pirate, and when they returned the subject didn’t come back up. We’d dodged a bullet. This was the best Halloween party ever.
This was not an alcohol-free party for the adults. Around nine o’clock, Tina’s dad declined another beer, since he had to drive home, but my dad sent me to the kitchen to get another one for him and Mom. They had to go to work tomorrow (it was Wednesday; Halloween was celebrated on October 31st regardless of which day of the week it fell upon—no pushing it to the weekend in Fairbanks in 1979) but it’s not like they were getting sloppy drunk. Tina went with me.
“This is so great,” she said. “I can’t believe how much fun Dad is having. He’s usually so gloomy.”
“Maybe we can relax a little. I don’t mean holding hands in front of Mr. Martin’s house, but are we being too paranoid? I haven’t heard anything from him in almost a month.”
Tina shrugged. “Maybe. You know him better than I do.”
We stared at each other for a very long moment.
“Do you want to make out?” I asked.
“It’ll smear my devil makeup.”
“That’s true. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“You can touch one of my boobs if you do it quick.”
“Hey!” my dad called out. “I’m sitting here without a beer!” The other adults laughed. My parents didn’t get tipsy very often, so I was glad that they were enjoying themselves, even if my dad’s timing sucked crap.
I got the beer out of the refrigerator and Tina and I returned to the party. The low lighting and my baggy outfit was a godsend, because at that age I could get a boner from a female teacher writing the number 8 on the blackboard, so Tina’s offer had put me in a physical condition that her father would not appreciate.
At nine-thirty, there was a knock at the door. We hadn’t turned off the porch light, but trick-or-treaters didn’t generally show up after nine. My mom got up and answered.
It wasn’t a kid in a costume. It was a frantic-looking woman in a parka.
I thought I recognized her. I couldn’t tell you where I’d seen her before, but I was pretty sure she lived in my neighborhood.
“Sorry to bother you so late,” she said. “Did you have a trick-or-treater in a skeleton costume tonight?”
“I…think so,” Mom told her. “We had a lot of kids tonight. There was at least one skeleton.”
“I sewed the fabric bones onto his dark blue jacket, and he would’ve been wearing red glasses that lit up.”
“I would’ve remembered the red light-up glasses,” said Mom. She looked back at the rest of us. “Do any of you remember a skeleton trick-or-treater?”
None of us did.
“Okay,” the woman said. “Just thought I’d check.”
“What happened?” Mom asked.
“My son never came home.”
“Oh my God. How old is he?”
“Eleven. He got separated from his friends, I guess. They don’t know what happened to him.”
“Well, give me your phone number and I’ll call you if we see him.”
“Thank you.” The woman wiped a tear from her eye. I was surprised it didn’t
